Interviews using Poetry. All questions by Aaron Kent. Longlisted for Saboteur Awards 2017.

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Category: Mark Yakich

Today……..nobody showed up……..to hear me tell them
I stole my script back,
tore the print from
the inside of a scope……..I never believed in.
And for some reason……..I expected these……………………g…………………………..h……………………o……………………s……………………t…………………………..s
to believe in me.
But how can you help……..when nobody cares enough……..to melt into your words?

– Aaron Kent

Answer 4

Even if I don’t like somebody, I think that somebody must like him or her so I try harder, but sometimes I think that if somebody else likes that person then I don’t have to.
I live on a one-way street.

*

I am an average chess player.
I prefer to hide than to seek.

*

I do not write books.
I dig holes and then, forgetting that I’ve made them, I fall.

*

Our son collects pebbles every chance he gets and cares for them as though they were pet bugs, but then when he finds bugs he mostly wants to chuck them as though they were pebbles.
I find golf a good way to ruin a long walk.

*

One Christmas Day, I challenged my dad to a game of chess and beat him, only later realizing that my winning was a terrible mistake.
I don’t know whether it’s better to cry in car parks than to hand feed the elderly.

*

I often feel closer to the things that humans make than to the humans who make them.
The diaries I have kept in my life are all stored in a plastic box with a flimsy lock.

On Pika………(From Hiroshima – meaning……………………brilliant light,…………….meaning the moment……………………I beg to be able…………….to tell somebody about)
Trapp……….(From Norwegian – meaning……………………staircase,…………….meaning the location……………………I find myself…………….begging to forget about)
I was warned that silence
would be essential
if we wanted to maintain the
family unit.

And to this day I still keep quiet
through fear
of destroying a cult
I no longer belong to.……..(Do you write the words you……………………were told…………….to never say, or do……………………you cover them…………….in metaphor?)

My epaulets were branded game,
held aloft in the corridors beside
nuclear deterrents. Carved bâton
percé into my ironed creases and
the blood on the inside of my lip.
Do you bite through your memories?
Chew the vestibule in nervous wait?
Anteocularis fell before my eyes
as I was reminded of the first note.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

Falling through the skylights,
Your triolets wouldn’t open properly,
Unkempt yet unmitigated. Did I ever
Go pulse-less in your mind? End
The alley of happiness on purpose?
Too light already to go faded.
Much too forgetful to write good prose.